


The Anatomy of Angel Wings

by BabyDollDevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Dean Winchester, BDSM, Bloodplay, Deepthroating, Demon Sam Winchester, Facials, M/M, Pain, Wing Kink, supernatural!winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyDollDevil/pseuds/BabyDollDevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this world, it's a death wish for an angel and a demon to be together, but Sam and Dean find a way around that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anatomy of Angel Wings

  
_You can have anything in life  
if you will sacrifice everything else for it._   
[(x)](http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/j/jamesmbar163290.html)

—————

There's an abandoned church halfway between heaven and hell.

Some place in the middle of nowhere, America, in a field long forgotten. Inside, the stale air is tinged with a sweet metallic scent and Dean kneels in the aisle between moldy wooden pews. His knees are scraped open and raw. His arms are getting weak, bound together at the wrists and strung up above his head with cold metal chains. His body is completely bare apart from the blood covering it, both old and fresh, all of it mostly his, but some of it not.

Sam looms behind him. Dean can barely see the shadow he casts for the darkness of the room, but one window still remains, letting in light from somewhere beyond the constant cloud that lingers above them.

Dean rears back and wails, the sound of his voice echoing through the empty church. The pain in his back is excruciating. Nothing, _nothing_ , has ever felt like this before; he never knew anything _could_ feel like this at all.

Sam lets the cluster of black feathers fall from his palm, shaking his hand to release the rest that stick. Blood is running down Dean's back, puddling on the floor beneath both of them. Dean's body racks with a sob; crying because of the pain, because of the loss. Because of the tremendous weight finally lifted from him. It's a mournful rejoicing that sounds like an oratorio to Sam's ears.

Dean's wing is embedded so deep, feels like it has taken root in the innermost part of him. Sam pulls it from him with his just hands, one bare wing free of feathers, now disconnected from Dean's body. The angel can't even make a sound now, just chokes on brackish air and slumps forward, letting his chained wrists support his weight.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees blood drenched feathers covering the floor, useless, filthy things now. He has to remind himself that that's all he's giving up. Both of them are greater than the sum of their parts - black wings and Sam's black eyes - and it will be worth it. It will be worth it because they'll have neither when this is all finished but they'll still have each other.

Heavy bootsteps resound through the room as Sam slowly walks a circle around Dean and stops in front of him. He doesn't have to say anything to get Dean's attention, his whole presence inherently demands it. Dean's blurry gaze takes him in, from his dusty and blood caked boots to his hauntingly gorgeous face. Sam stares down at him with predacious admiration.

Dean looks so beautiful, neck craned to looked up at Sam, green eyes tinged with pink, pleading, tears leaking from the corners and running down his cheek, purging his flesh of blood in long, uneven paths. The muscles in his arms are straining against the chains, his chest is heaving, crimson lips parted. His shoulder droops from carrying the lopsided weight, slightly tilting his body with the burden of having to support the one magnificent black wing. His strong thighs are spread apart, holding up his weight on just his knees and between them his cock is obscenely hard, thick and long and dripping.

Sam cups Dean's jaw in his palm, takes his thumb and wipes the blood from the corner of Dean's mouth, but succeeds only in smearing it. He bends down to kiss Dean's lips and, god, Dean's lets him, loves it, lets Sam do whatever he wants. Sam's kiss is all spice, demon blood seeping from his split lip and mixing with the sweetness of Dean's. Two pieces of one whole. Sam and Dean. Demon and angel. Dark and light and evil and good that condenses down to just _wantneedlovelovelove_.

Dean savors the taste, craves it, swipes his tongue across Sam's lip because all he wants is more. Salt and sweet and spice and _Sam_. There's a growing mortal ache in Dean's chest, filling him up so perfect because everything between them is built on pain. Dean could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. Him bound and on his knees in front of a demon, trusting him with his heart, his life, both of them silently promising each other rebirth in the wake of all this ruin.

" _Please_ ," Deans begs, shattered.

Sam looks at him, sympathetic, brows knitting above shining obsidian black eyes. "My beautiful little angel," he coos, his voice holding all the qualities of a predator luring in his prey. He's hungry for Dean, wants to ravage him, so strung up and helpless and divine. Sam reaches up, his fingertips brush over Dean's wing, and the angel quakes.

Sam clutches Dean's hair in one hand, tenderly grips Dean's throat with the other, long fingers almost encompassing his whole neck. "You said you love me right? And I love you, Dean. We _have_ to do this."

Dean nods his head, feels the fragile bones pressing against Sam's palm. The demon releases his hold on Dean's throat, and takes his cock in his hand. He brushes it across Dean's cheek, across his lips, covering the tip with sweet, thick angel blood before sliding it into Dean's waiting mouth. He's gentle this time, soft, smooth thrusts that go all the way down Dean's throat, holding himself in Dean's mouth before pulling back out and doing it again.

Fresh tears flow from Dean's eyes as he stares up at Sam. He feels everything so thoroughly now. The burning wound in his back, Sam's cock so gloriously heavy in his mouth, the love like a string that connects the two of them, wrapping around and holding them together.

Sam pulls out completely, strokes his shaking hand up and down his full length and comes on Dean's face. He leaves a sticky trail across the angel's cheeks, his chin, a string of come joining Dean's parted lips and the angel almost smiles, so thankful to Sam for giving him this.

Sam kneels down in front of Dean, urgent now, kissing the mess off of Dean's skin. He flicks his tongue out and licks long lines up the angel's cheek, letting his lips gather up come and blood and tears, and then feeding it back to Dean. And Dean takes all of it, opens his mouth and moans, whines, pulls against his chains because he has to touch his demon. He has to or he'll _die_ and then this would all be for nothing.

When he's done, when they're both sated and content, Sam places his forehead against Dean's and inhales, a shuddering breath that racks his whole body. "Oh, I love you, my angel," he whispers. "My gorgeous angel, giving up your grace for me."

Dean keens and pushes forward for another kiss and Sam gives it to him, never been one to deny his angel, and they share the lingering taste of Dean's blood and Sam's come. Dean whimpers when Sam draws away, but the demon is still there, caressing Dean's scalp with his fingertips.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Dean." Sam stands up and Dean starts trembling again. He needs Sam's constant touch, aches for it. He wants to capture Sam in his arms and mark up his skin, wants to add fresh bruises to both their bodies because they can't get enough of each other.

He doesn't flinch away when Sam touches his other wing. He tries to show Sam that he needs this, wants this. This really is the only way, but even if it wasn't, Dean would still choose it regardless. The pain, the pleasure, the freedom of being mortal. The reward of being with Sam without the death sentences that they brought upon themselves constantly hanging over them like a cloud.

Sam is merciful with Dean's other wing, the anger and frustrating defeat he felt earlier all but gone. He starts a steady rhythm as he pulls out black feathers from Dean's flesh. He enjoyed it before, they both did in some sick way, but now he just want to be done. He wants to hold Dean and fill him up, feel his mortal body quiver underneath all of his love.

Dean just grates his teeth and bares it. This part isn't that bad, not when Sam isn't trying to make it hurt. Black feathers fly through the air and float down to the dusty floor, like sand in an hourglass, counting down the time in a sluggish flow.

"I'm almost done," Sam says more to himself than to Dean, but the angel still jumps at the sound of his voice. "Are you with me, Dean?" he asks, waiting for Dean to nod his head before ripping the wing from his body.

Dean screams and shakes, openly sobs because of the pain and because of the relief. He hangs his head and Sam falls to his knees behind him, running his hands across Dean's bare and bloody back. Sam presses his chest against Dean's wounds and wraps around him, leaving kisses on his sweat glazed neck.

Sam finds Dean's cock and starts stroking him, hands firm and blood slick. Dean is hard and pulsing, his tired body still finding the energy to thrust against Sam's palm. He leans his head back on the demon's shoulder, closing his eyes so he can just feel this - Sam's lips against his neck, Sam's hand against his cock, Sam's body pulled in so close to his own that he can feel every breath that he takes, feels him hot and hard behind him.

Dean is delirious when he comes, overwhelmingly blissed out and rapturous. He shakes and trembles, his knees giving out, but Sam holds him up, saving his wrists from the weight. "That's it, angel," Sam murmurs. "Just like that. I've got you."

Dean can't take it anymore, begs with what little words he has left to be freed, and Sam obediently stands to remove the chains from his wrists. The demon is there before Dean falls, catching his body from hitting the ground and pulling him into his arms. They're both exhausted, wrecked, but it's _almost_ done. Sam is next and he has to prepare himself for that, but, for now, he lifts Dean's face and kisses his lips, his nose, his eyelids, kisses along his jaw as he lays them down and puts them both to rest.


End file.
